


Sam's Star

by Rakshi



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rakshi/pseuds/Rakshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has received the "The Star of the Dúnedain” but he isn't sure he should keep it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam's Star

**Author's Note:**

> From Waymeet's Long-expected Party Challenge - ROTK.  
> My Quote: Already the Ring tempted him, gnawing at his will and reason. Wild fantasies arose in his mind; and he saw Samwise the Strong, Hero of the Age, striding with a flaming sword across the darkened land, and armies flocking to his call as he marched to the overthrow of Barad-dûr.
> 
> Thanks to Shirebound. This story followed her Shirebunnie: A11. King Elessar gives Sam “the Star of the Dunedain” (a diamond) 15 years after Frodo leaves Middle-earth. What does Sam do with it, once he has it? What becomes of it when he sails West? It gave my muse some much needed inspiration.

It was a grand and glorious event destined to be the spring from which tales and songs would flow for many generations to come. King Elessar, ruler of Gondor and Arnor and High King of the Reunited Kingdom, had traveled hundreds miles from the White City to visit his northern kingdom with all his court in attendance. Refusing to transgress against his own edict which forbade men to enter the free lands of the Shire, he had set up his village of tents and pavilions in the fields next to the Brandywine Bridge, causing a stir of activity and a huge bustle of excitement in all the lands surrounding Buckland.

Folk from the neighboring regions had been preparing for weeks, and now carts rushed across the Brandywine bridge overflowing with hardy Shire food and specially made dainties to delight King Aragorn and his guests. The inn at Scary was inundated with requests for kegs of good Shire ale and the king himself had requested several barrels of ‘Longbottom Leaf’ be delivered directly to his tent. A formal ceremony was planned for the day following the king’s arrival which was to be crowned by a feast so lavish that the finest chefs in all the Shire had been baking, grilling, roasting, sautéing, beating, whipping, creaming, paring, toasting, and garnishing for days to make ready.

Specially invited guests were arriving from all Four Farthings of the Shire. And certain special dignitaries such as The Thain, the Master of Buckland, and the Mayor of Michel Delving, the three ‘Counselors of the North’, had been sent special invitations written in the king’s own hand. The Hobbits in question were delighted at the invitation and the chance to see their old friend, Strider, once again. They quickly made arrangements to travel to the distinguished event together, and in the days before the king was due to arrive in Buckland, Pippin, Merry, and Samwise rode slowly across the breadth of the Shire. They took their time, spending many nights under the stars as they did in olden days, talking late into the night about the grand times they had shared, and the friends they loved who were far away in distant lands.

Once at the king’s encampment they had a joyful reunion with their old traveling companion, and the four renewed their ties of affection and loyalty over long cups of ale and many more long hours of talking and smoking beside the fire.

Now it was late the following day, and the ceremonial events were concluded. Merry and Pippin, feeling worn out from the day-long festivities and the grand feast which had followed them, had bade the king a fond goodnight and were already sound asleep in the tent which had been set up to house all three hobbits. But Sam, even though he also was weary from the day’s long events, found that he could not sleep. For a long time he tossed and turned in his blankets trying not to hear the gentle snoring of his comrades, but he had finally given up the effort.

Rising, he left the hobbits’ resting place and quietly moved between the tents, trying his best not to disturb those who slept within. A guard bowed low before him as he approached the royal pavilion. “Good evening, Sir Mayor. Can I help you with something?”

Sam returned the man’s bow, feeling decidedly uncomfortable. He found the formalities with which he was treated by the king’s entire court a bit disconcerting. They all looked at him with something akin to awe, and this constant bowing! Well, it simply had to stop.

“Sam’s the name, beggin’ your pardon, sir,” he said to the guard, bowing low himself. “No need to be bowin’ to me. I’m a simple gardener from up Hobbiton way.”

“But you are the Ringbearer!” the man said, remaining at stiff attention as he stood before a very flustered Sam. “Aglar 'ni Pheriannath!”

“No, sir,” Sam declared firmly. “I am _not_ the Ringbearer.” Then, seeing the man’s bewilderment and feeling sorry for him, Sam spoke again in a lower, softer voice: “The Ringbearer has gone across the sea.” Looking even more confused, but still seemingly unconvinced, the man remained at rigid attention and Sam shook his head. Clearly it was hopeless. “If you please, sir, I’ve come seeking a word with Stri – I mean with King Elessar, if he’s still awake. May I see him please?”

The man bowed again and retreated into the royal pavilion, and Sam took a seat at a low, hobbit-sized bench, several of which had been set near the campfire at the king’s command. Sighing, he filled his pipe and pulled a small brand from the fire to light it. The night was quiet. Most of the king’s guests were, apparently, asleep, and Sam was content to sit, quietly smoking and gazing up at the stars as he listened to the sounds of frogs on the nearby Brandywine, and crickets in the rushes, and the wind in the nearby trees.

Before many minutes had passed Sam saw the guard return, followed shortly by a tall, lean figure wrapped in an ornate robe. The man gave a brief hand signal to the accompanying guard, who moved some distance away.

Recognizing him at once, Sam rose and bowed before the king. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir. I hope I didn’t wake you with my foolishness.”

Aragorn smiled and lowered himself to a bench facing Sam's. “Nonsense!” he said, smiling and stretching out his long legs. “I wasn’t sleeping, Sam. I’m glad you’ve come to see me. We’ve barely had time to talk this whole long day.” He gestured toward the barrel of pipe-weed which sat conveniently near the fire though not too near for fear of drying its fragrant leaves. “’Twas a good year for ‘Longbottom Leaf’, or so it would seem.” He reached to take a brand which he held to his pipe. Then blowing smoke towards the stars which twinkled overhead, he sighed in apparent content.

“Not as good as the 3030 leaf, but passable,” Sam replied between puffs. “But I forget, sir. You don’t mark the years same as we do.”

“No,” Aragorn said smiling. “We mark the years from the day the Ring was destroyed. From the day when you and Frodo saved all of Middle-earth.”

Sam shook his head. “I saved nothing. I couldn’t even save _him_.” He gazed at the king sadly. “It’s fifteen years he’s been gone, Strider. I can scarce believe it.”

Aragorn nodded. “Long years for you, Sam. I know how much you must miss him.”

“More with every passin’ day,” Sam said slowly. Then he quickly glanced up at the king. “Not to be sayin’ that I don’t have a good life, sir. I do. My Rosie is the finest flower in the Shire and the children are a blessing to my heart.” He turned back towards the campfire. “And yet…” he murmured.

“And yet,” Aragorn repeated, “your love for Frodo remains unchanged.” He smiled at Sam. “As I knew it would.”

“At times I’ve wished it _could_ change,” Sam admitted slowly. “And, aye, my lord, the years have been long indeed.” For a moment he stared at the flickering flames in silence then he turned once again to the king. “And yet, his leavin’ seems like yesterday, the pain is that fresh in my heart.”

Aragorn nodded. “So it is with those moments which are branded on our memories. For good or for ill, we will remember them anew and feel them in our hearts for as long as we live.”

Sam nodded wordlessly, and for a long time the two old friends smoked in silence. Then Sam turned toward the king and spoke: “King Elessar…” he began. But Aragorn stopped him.

“Sam,” he intoned, drawing out the sound of Sam’s name in bemusement and affection. “No formality, please. Such ceremony is not needed between two old campaigners such as you and I. Strider I am, and Strider I hope to remain to you always.”

Sam bowed his head in assent. “Strider, I come with a question.”

“Ask it,” Aragorn replied.

“Today you honored me, sir, with this.” He reached beneath his tunic and drew out a brooch of silver shaped like a rayed star. “The Star of the Dúnedain,” Sam marveled. “You gave this to me!” He held the brooch gently on the palm of his brown hobbit-hand, and the stars seemed to dance upon its surface, twinkling like a constellation of diamonds.

“I did,” Aragorn replied softly. “For such honor you richly deserve.”

“I’m not sure that I do, sir,” Sam said with a sigh. “No more than – others,” he stammered. “Others who did more than I. Others who are not remembered or honored the way you honor me here.”

“The heroes of Middle-earth who fought the great darkness deserve to be honored, Sam. And you are among the greatest of those who fought in the War of the Ring.”

Sam stared into the fire, his plain face growing ever more thoughtful, then he turned back to Aragorn. “You speak of heroes, my lord,” he remarked softly. “I’ll tell you a tale that I’ve told to no other.” He paused, then sighed. “For it is a moment of shame for me.”

“Sam!” the king exclaimed, leaning toward the Hobbit. “I can’t imagine anything for which you need feel ashamed!”

“My master was captured by those foul Orcs,” Sam began, “and I was fearful that I would never be able to free him… or even find him in that dark and miserable tower. And for a moment durin’ that black time I felt…” He paused, and then shook himself as if shaking off a bad dream or ill omen. “I felt the Ring temptin’ me, sir… temptin’ me to claim it, if you understand me. It told me I was ‘Samwise the Strong, Hero of the Age’ and that I could turn all of Mordor into a garden if I but took that foul thing as my own.”

“But you didn’t,” Aragorn said firmly. “You refused to be tempted. Where is the shame in that?”

“Aye,” Sam muttered. “I knew it was a cheat. And besides, sir, all I could think of was my Frodo. Of how much I loved him. Of how he might be hurt or in pain. And, praise Elbereth, my love was stronger than any power that unclean _thing_ could ever have over me.” He glanced up at Aragorn and shook his head ruefully. “But I _was_ tempted, my lord. If only for a moment… I _was_ tempted. And it is that which shames me to this very day.”

“But your love for Frodo gave you strength enough to refuse the Ring’s enticements and to see through its lies. You need feel no shame, my good Samwise.”

Sam gazed once again at the ‘The Star of the Dúnedain’, “And now you honor me as a hero, sir. And though I’m right grateful, it feels wrong to take it while _he_ who deserves honor more than any other receives **none**!” Sam’s voice was thick with unshed tears. “Who even remembers now how that evil thing tormented him?” He drew in a tremulous breath then looked into the king’s face and slowly held out his hand, offering the brooch to Aragorn. “I should not take this, my lord.”

But the King waved Sam's hand away, refusing to receive the brooch. For a long moment he stared at the dancing flames, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe, then he turned back to his friend. “Sam,” he said gently, “you are mistaken.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Aragorn held out his hand to silence him. “Be still a moment and hear me.” He stood and went to the bench where Sam sat and lowered himself upon it, wrapping his long arm about Sam’s shoulders. “Listen, my friend,” he murmured. “You are the last of the Ringbearers and for that alone you deserve this honor and many more. But beyond that, it is through your unswerving love for Frodo that our world was saved as much as through any act of renown.”

“He accepted the burden,” Sam whispered. “He suffered most. What I did… I did to serve him because I loved him too much to do otherwise. I couldn’t let him go alone. It would have been the death of me. But **he** bore his burden to save us all… thinking not of himself or of what he wanted. Thinking only to save the home he loved.”

“Aye,” Aragorn sighed. “This I know full well, my friend.”

“And yet,” Sam continued, “in his own country he is not even remembered, save by we few who know and love him.” His voice was bitter and he shook his head.

“He is remembered, Sam. He is remembered in every realm where men walk free. His name and his deeds will never be forgotten. The folk of the Shire do not mean to slight your Frodo. They simply don’t understand the peril they were in, nor all that he did to save them. You must forgive them, Sam, for they are innocent. And many of us strove in those days of fear and growing darkness to _keep_ them thus.”

Sam nodded. “I understand, my lord. And you’re right. But sometimes ‘tis hard to bear.” He fingered the rayed silver star. “This should go to him,” he murmured. “To him.”

“Then one day you shall give it to him, Sam,” Aragorn said, rising to his feet. “For I believe you will see him again.”

Sam smiled up at his friend. “Perhaps. Perhaps one day I, too, will go to the Havens. He said it was so on that day when he left.”

“And I believe it is true… _Ringbearer_.”

Sam bowed his head.

“And one thing more,” the king added in a voice which suddenly rang with authority. “In giving you the ‘Star of the Dúnedain’, Samwise Gamgee, Counselor of the North, I also pay tribute to Frodo of the Shire, the Ringbearer and hero..." Aragonr paused, then spoke more softly: "... he who loves you, my good Samwise. For I know in my heart that he, who **we** all honor for his acts of courage and for his great sacrifice, would rejoice to see _you_ thus honored.” Then Aragorn ruffled Sam’s curly brown hair and bid him goodnight.

After the king returned to his tent, Sam sat awhile, his eyes turning first to the silver Star in his hands then to the stars which glittered above him in the dark sky. In his mind’s eye he saw another star… one which had shown out against all hope as he sat beside Frodo in the black lands, one which had renewed his strength and courage when he had believed that all was lost.

“I’ll take this gift for _you_ , my beloved,” he whispered. “I’ll hold it close until the day when I walk beside you once again. You are the hero of my heart and one day I shall place this shining star in your hands where it rightly belongs. It is yours, my Frodo… as is my love… now and forever.”

Rising, he placed the brooch in his pocket, and then the last of the Ringbearers walked slowly back to his tent to rest.


End file.
